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A Final Sonnet

How strange to be gone in a minute! A man

Signs a shovel and so he digs Everything

Turns into writing a name for a day

Someone

is having a birthday and someone is getting

married and someone is telling a joke my dream

a white tree I dream of the code of the west

But this rough magic I here abjure and

When I have required some heavenly music which even now

I do to work mine end upon their senses

That this aery charm is for I'll break

My staff bury it certain fathoms in the earth

And deeper than did ever plummet sound

I'll drown my book

It is 5:15 a.m. Dear Chris, hello.

--Ted Berrigan